Dance
by Girl Who Writes
Summary: She sits on her daughter’s bed, holding the little girl’s hair brush and watching her baby sitting on the floor.


**Title: **Dance**  
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**Author: **Girl Who Writes**  
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**Character: **Shannon**  
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**Summary: **She sits on her daughter's bed, holding the little girl's hair brush and watching her baby sitting on the floor.

**Spoilers: **Spoilers for_...Abandoned _**  
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**Notes: **Just got back from a week in Melbourne (best schoolies ever!) and I jotted this idea on the back of a receipt; it's quite different, but I love exploring the relationships that occured before canon-Lost. I hope you enjoy it and reviews are deeply appreciated.

This fic does refer to things mentioned in my fic _"She Remembers"_, but you don't have to read that, and I don't consider the two fics to go together.

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She sits on her daughter's bed, holding the little girl's hair brush and watching her baby sitting on the floor.

The little girl is only three (her birthday was only nine days ago) and her hair is held up by an optimistic ribbon (she cannot wait until her little girl's hair is long enough to braid with ribbons and clips, and they can pour over magazines with new hairstyles; when they can dye their hair pink for a day, and weaving beads through the yellow-white strands) and the baby wears a pink tutu; handmade by her late at night when her sweetheart is fast asleep.

Her chubby baby legs are encased in silky pink ballet stockings and end with the tiniest ballet slippers (she knows it'll be tedious having to retie the ribbons around Shannon's small ankles, but her baby thinks she's just so grown up, it will be worth it.)

"Sweetheart, it's time for bed." Shannon looks up and blinks at her Mama, in a white dress and pink shawl, her thick blonde hair pinned with a silk rose. She clings to her doll tight, somehow managing to stick her thumb in her mouth and reach up for her mama at the same time.

She whimpers as the tutu comes off, followed by the ballet slippers and shoes. Her doll is put aside as the bath is filled with bubbles, and the toys are put in the water – a pale pink rubber duck, a rubber swan Shannon liked to suck and chew on, a sponge seahorse. She kneels beside the bath and smiles as her baby splashes water and bubbles on her white dress, staining the fabric light pink.

Her baby's head lolls and there's a fluffy pink towel wrapped around her, and a kiss to Shannon's cheek. Her soft hair is combed out, and she carefully manoeuvres Shannon's little arms into the sleeves of her nightdress.

Adam picked his little girl's bed – old fashioned wrought iron, with a quilt made by his mother, whom Shannon was named for. A big name for such a sweet little thing, asleep before she hits the pillow, the doll tucked in beside her. A white mosquito net is hung over Shannon and the little girl sleeps peacefully, her little hands curling into fists.

She will sit at the end of Shannon's bed for the first hour, when Shannon wakes up calling out for her. A cup of water, a cuddle and she only goes back to sleep when she is wrapped in her mama's pink shawl and can see her tutu.

When her mama dies, Shannon begs her grandmother to let her mama go to heaven dressed in pink and white, with her pearls on and wrapped in her lovely pink shawl. Her grandmother turns away and dresses her dead daughter in a respectable navy blue dress and respectable gold jewellery and Shannon cries.

She screams and cries the day of the funeral but her grandmother dresses her in itchy black velvet and black shoes. She wears her ballet stockings under her dress and a pink silk rose in her hair. She wears a pink shawl wrapped around her, and her Daddy cuddles her close. And when Daddy takes her to see her mama lying still, Shannon puts the silk rose in her mama's hair and Grandma tries to take it away but Daddy makes her leave it.

And while it's just her and Daddy, he comes and watches her ballet lessons, on Saturday mornings when the studio is cold. He brings her pink cardigan every week, but Shannon wears her mama's shawl like a talisman, slung across her skinny, child's body.

And when she's asleep next to Boone in the middle of an unknown island, she balls the shawl up and breathes deep. Because whether it's there or whether it's Shannon's memory, she can smell lilies and bubble bath.

And she wonders later if Sayid knows to keep the shawl when they bury her, to protect him self from the dark. She hopes he does, but it's too late to tell him that now. It's too late to tell him many things. And she wants to tell him that she can dance here, that Boone's here and he'll look after her and she knows that if she looks hard enough, her mother will be here with ribbons and silk flowers for her hair.

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End file.
